


Through Luna’s Grace

by BurrSquee, Tikor



Series: Castebook: Changing Moon [2]
Category: Exalted
Genre: F/M, Lunars, POV First Person, Roleplaying Character, Sexual Content, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 04:22:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12548736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurrSquee/pseuds/BurrSquee, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tikor/pseuds/Tikor
Summary: Herein are the stories of six Changing Moons as they are graced by Luna.





	1. Through Luna's Grace: Changing Moon

To take the Second Breath is to transition from one’s mortal life into that of the Exalted. Like the First Breath that gives a soul to a babe soon to scream, it is often taken in a moment of great stress and hardship. The Changing Moons take this transition, jarring though it is, mostly in stride. They start a new life defined by the changes they make, to themselves with their shapeshifting, and to others around them with their silver tongues. Though one change they make less often; more than most Celestial Exalted, the Changing Moons are likely to keep tabs on the social circles of their mortal life.


	2. Ten Stripes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ten Stripes, a poor girl on the Western island of Landfall, learns to swim.

**Landfall, an Island of the Wavecrest Archipelago**  
My daddy done gone sailed off one day and didn’t come back. I was too young to remember him, but my mamma told me stories. She’d tell me after he set sail he got turned around in a storm and found himself in paradise where his ship wrecked and he couldn’t get home, though he wanted to. Said he was just fine besides missing me and mamma terribly. ‘Course the local boys’d tell me he just got tired of my mamma and me. I’d slug them when they said that.

Me and my mamma, we had it hard without a man to bring in the catch. Hardscrabble meals came from pig’s feet mixed with what our little garden could provide and what Mamma could beg or work for. She’d clean the houses of the men long at sea, or she’d scrub the linens of wealthy women. We didn’t ever accept handouts from the priestesses, though. We had that much pride. Couldn’t trust that one day they wouldn’t throw you into the volcano.

I didn’t have the childhood other children had, running along the beach and listening to the holy women all day. I was always delivering messages, or carrying little loads for a scrap of fish or some stale bread. My mamma always told me I was a good girl for helping out, and let me eat what I made myself. Mamma always looked out for me.

One day, I got the idea in my head to copy the boys of the island, stole myself some fishing line and tied it to a stick. Then I tied a hook I’d found along the beach to the other end, waded into the ocean and dropped that line in, hoping for a fish. Well, long before any fish took my unbaited hook, along came old Trough, that mean old man. He snuck up behind me and cuffed my ear, he did. He told me to get out of that water, right quick. ‘Said I’d call down the storm mothers on us, and there’d be a lot more little girls like me without their pappy’s. I ran up to shore, but he wasn’t done with me yet. He snapped my pole and stole my line and hook, then marched me back to my mamma to tell her what transpired. 

My mamma slapped my bottom red and kept me in the house for the next couple of days without supper. She had a long talk to me about what the men and boys were to do, and what the women and girls were to do. And I sat there through it all with my arms crossed and my lip set to pout. I love my mamma, but if I hadn’t’a not listened to her then, I’d still be on that island with those ignorants.

 **Exaltation**  
I was out on some errand or another, arms full of somebody else’s stuff - onions I think - hoping to get a sliver of it after I made it to the person that was getting it. Rain was coming down hard, making my little basket heavier than it oughtta been. I was passing by the docks, that part I recall clearly. Some fisherman in a little single-man boat was rowing into shore, calling out for someone to help him dock. There were lots of fins swirling around him, I could see that even through the chop. 

Hoping to get a fish with my vegetables that night, I set down my load, ran out on the docks, found me a rope, and waited. I saw the man was just about out of strength, churning his oars against the waves, his sail tied up tight against the whipping wind. I saw there was blood in the water from a great sailfish he had tied to the side of his boat. It looked too big to fit in his small craft, the catch of a year for a man like that. But it wasn’t bleeding from the hook-hole, nope. Great chunks of that pretty fish were missing, and its blood was seeping into the water. And those fins swirling about him didn’t look too friendly. 

When he got close enough, I threw him the rope and he caught it. But I didn’t know anything about sailing. Girls on my island weren’t _supposed_ to know anything about sailing. I didn’t tie my end to the pier, and I didn’t let go it, so when he pulled that rope with his wiry muscles he jerked me off my feet into the water.

I was scared. I didn’t know how to swim. Girls on my island weren’t _supposed_ to know how to swim. I held onto that rope for dear life. I felt a tug on it, then another, regular-like. It was the old man pulling me into his boat. When he got me above the water, I spat half the ocean out while the sky hit my face with even more water. He got a good look at me then, and I remember clearly how he set his face. He was scared. He’d seen, now that I was up close, that I was a little girl, not a little boy, and he didn’t want me in his boat. He’d been raised to fear the storm mothers, just like everybody else I knew growing up. So, even though he knew I couldn’t make it to shore, even though I’d just as likely be eaten by the sharks swarming his catch, he let go of that rope, picked me up, and tossed me right out of his little boat.

I was furious. Right mad. I hollered and kicked and spun my arms, but it didn’t get me anywhere in that rolling ocean. But then one of them sharks brushed up against me. I felt her rough skin against mine. And suddenly I didn’t feel so out of breath anymore, even though I hadn’t come up for any air. I could see the bottom of the boat clearly, through the sea. And when I kicked my legs from side to side I cut through that water right quick. So I kicked myself up out of the water into that man’s boat. Somehow, I didn’t fit in it, and my weight caused it to take on heavy water. He was even more scared of me now than he was the first time. As he fell toward me from the top side of the tilted boat, I bit him.

His hot blood rushed into my mouth, far more than I suspected would come out. It tasted salty and good. So I took another bite, then another. Soon, there wasn’t much man left. And I wasn’t hungry anymore. But I was starting to get short of breath, like I’d been underwater instead of out of it. So I rocked that little boat right over and fell back into the sea where everything felt fine. The fury of the storm seemed miles away, even though it was just a few feet up at the top of the water. I figured if I went back now, people would ask what happened to the fisherman, and ask why I got in his boat, and I wouldn’t have any good answers for them. I didn’t want to get thrown into a volcano to appease the gods, or worse, get my mamma thrown in with me. So I said goodbye in my mind to my island and my mamma. I got the urge to swim, and swam out to sea by myself. None of the other sharks stopped me.

 **The School**  
I swam outward from my island in an expanding spiral, no particular destination in mind. The storm stopped, the sun set, and it rose again. The whole time it was just me and the sea. I got a feel for the siaka shape I’d turned into, learning how to maneuver, how to stop, how to get my speed and crest the waves only to crash down again. For those of you who’ve never been out West, siaka are sharks, just bigger and meaner than most, and especially warlike, what with being Siakal’s favorite and all. But, all that killing power didn’t stop my stomach from biting at me, so I was itching to put my swimming skills to the test hunting prey.

But, no prey swam by. Hours of open ocean with nothing to break it up. I saw a bird, but it didn’t drop to swim. I was beginning to question whether my freedom from my island was just an invitation to starve. All the men brought back so many fish from the sea every day. Where could they all be?

Then I saw light dance off of a fin in the distance. Finally, something to eat! I swam for it, but it wasn’t just one fish, or two. It was a whole school of them. And they weren’t tuna or mahi-mahi or snapper. They were hammerhead sharks. And they were hunting, too.

But, I was hungry, and I was three times as big as any one of them, even though there were dozens of them. I decided to take my chances and swam closer. But one of the sharks swam away from the school and stopped in front of me. He was different, a bull shark. I thought I was lucky, that this was going to be easier taking on one instead of all of them. But then he moved his fins and his head in a way that told me what he was thinking, even though he didn’t make a noise. He said, “We mean you no harm.” And he said, “We go to the place where the prey-fish swim. Join us.” I figured, if they can talk to each other I’ll be in real trouble if I attacked them. So I kept my jaws shut, and swam along with them. 

We swam together for some time, so long the sun set again, and I have to admit I thought about backing out of the deal and eating a few of my fellow sharks anyway. But then we saw them, thousands of them, swimming together. Their silver scales reflected the moonlight. They looked delicious.

Some of the sharks would swim on the other side of the school, and scare them our way. We just chowed down on ‘em. They tasted just as good as they looked, fresher than I’d ever eaten, still wiggling. The shark that talked to me seemed to be talking to the other sharks, too. The others were following his lead.

When everybody had a good gutfull, that lead shark spoke to me again. “Now that you’ve eaten I’ll chance more conversation.” With more fin-waggling, I heard in my head, “I am Swims in Shadows. You and I are the chosen of my goddess, Luna. Welcome to the true West.”


	3. Seven Devils Clever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seven Devils Clever, the owner of the Three Chests brothel in Nexus, tells the story of her ascent.

**The Free People of Nexus**  
There are no slaves in Nexus. There are gladiators and concubines, merchants and laborers, princes and paupers, but no slaves. Everyone gets paid. Everyone can walk out on a contract, but if they do, word gets out and they may never have a contract again. Even the soldiers are only loyal to the next paycheck. It is a free city in as many ways as it can be.

But, the Emissary and the Council cannot free us from everything. Not, I suspect, that they even want to. The grain merchants would lobby mightily against any freedom from hunger, the churigions against any freedom from disease. 

I grew up surrounded by both. Disease and hunger, that is. Everyone talks about the guild princes of Nexus. How they dress, what they eat, who they meet with, what latest craze they’ve started by buying. But they are, by necessity, the few. The many scrape by on what they choose to trade for their lives and labor. In between burning their pay to live above their means, that is. 

When a factor needs his palace built, the masons drink every night and splurge on pretty company. When a caravan returns, the wagoneers line the carpenters’ and blacksmiths’ pockets with orders for refittings. When the council calls for war, the mercenary companies are generous with the signing bonuses. The young firebrands march off, but their money finds its way into the drain at the center of the harlot’s legs.

When no palaces need built, no caravans have come, and no war is declared, thin broth is dinner and hawking your wares is breakfast. It’s as true for the mercenaries, caravans, and builders as it is for the bakers, butchers, and tailors that serve them. The dinars rain down from the top.

There are a few industries that weather the booms and busts better than most. Youth and pleasure are always in demand. People are so cruel to one another. The intimacy their personal lives lack catches a fair price in summer and winter, in feast times and lean ones.

There are no slaves in Nexus. But a free man whose looks turn heads can look around and see that a perfumed pillow and a lusty customer beats starving. That’s what I decided, too.

 **Exaltation**  
Anyone who tells you the flesh trade is easy is lying to you to get your investment in their brothel or your sweet ass to work there. We work hard for the money.

The customer doesn’t see the perspiration required to keep our bodies taut and lithe. The customer doesn’t see the recuperation from their overenthusiastic sessions. The customer doesn’t see the byblows’ young but not innocent eyes. The customer sees what they pay to see, what they want to see. At least, that’s how it is in my establishment. 

I wasn’t always on top. Back when I was a young girl, without enough money to properly bathe myself, I was lucky to have the Three Chests take me in and train me. Old Sacra. Gods. May her soul find its way through Lethe and into another beautiful body. At first I hated her. A poor girl from the streets didn’t have a prayer of meeting her standards. But all her hardness and discipline made me what I was before Luna’s touch. I still think enduring her was part of what drew the Argent Madonna’s eye to me.

She was the madame of the Three Chests before me. She started the place. A banker was her most loyal customer back when she was at the Red Sheet. She was as surprised as anyone, I hear, when he died and left her his horde of dinars and the storefront. She moved in and opened business, but kept the chests pictured on the sign. They just found a new meaning in her new business. The triple chest service started with her, and is still our finest offering.

Of course she couldn’t pay the rent forever just selling herself and dipping into her unusual inheritance. So she recruited some more girls and boys, whipped them into something worth selling, molding them into obsequiousness. I was her fifth.

Shortly after I was allowed to serve clients, we had a rough crowd fill the Three Chests to standing room only. The Bronze Pioneers - I’ll never forget. They’d had either the good luck or misfortune to sign on a Faeblooded into their ranks. Plentimon’s blessings and curses can be hard to tell apart, sometimes. Anyway, there weren’t enough boys and girls to go around, so we were entertaining multiples. I had two boys who didn’t look old enough to sign papers, but I didn’t care. I was taking their money and their virginity, not their words.

We all heard the shouting start, but it can be so hard to tell a shout of pleasure in the heat of the rut from one of pain. Even if it was pain, Sacra was willing to let the clients cross that line a little bit. Nobody batted an eye. But then it kept going. It escalated into screaming. Sacra told her clients to keep warm and left them, highly unusual both for her to be entertaining two in the first place, and for her to leave a client before they were sated… well, it was the first and last time I ever saw that. She opened the curtain and found her boy, Masalle, who’d always been kind to me, in some sort of trance. The Faeblooded was naked atop him, breasts bouncing like any normal woman, but he wasn’t reacting like any normal man. His face had drained all color, and his skin was cracking. Instead of bleeding, all the colors of the elements were leaking out of him and into the Faeblooded - her mouth and eyes, ner navel and her sex. It was obviously hurting him. Clearly, his life was in danger. 

I don’t know what Sacra would have done had I not spoken up. Would she have simply dropped the curtain and turned back to her clients? Would she have ordered the Faeblooded out, earning the ire of her fellow armed and dangerous mercenary companions? It keeps me awake at night, sometimes, when I’ve made a hard decision at my brothel, wondering what Sacra would do.

I felt two hands push me forward, and I stumbled into the center of the brothel. No one looked at me, they were all transfixed by the Faeblooded’s mating display. I turned around and saw a man, more beautiful than I’d ever seen, with silver hair and moonlight in his eyes tell me, “Do what you think is right. I’ll see to these two.”

Some madness made me listen. I walked over to the Bronze Pioneer with Wyld in her blood and lifted her off Masalle who coughed, turned, and fell off the bed. The Faeblood turned her eyes and a harsh scowl on me. Her irises were large, swirling, and green, twisting with power. I ignored them, somehow more powerful still. I said to her, “Ma’am, you have not paid for that service.”

That got her attention, and she realized that the entire brothel was looking at her now, except for two young lads and one skillful silver-haired whore. She straightened her bearing, looking noble with no clothes. She asked, “What does it cost?”

I answered her, and in that moment I swear my teeth grew into fangs, “Only your life.”

With that, she ordered her fellows to follow her out, over the protests of my two former clients, and the Three Chests hasn’t had any Bronze Pioneers frequent her since. Nor have I again seen the silver-haired whore, though his touch still runs through my blood. 

Sacra was found dead in the market the next week.


	4. Red Jaws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red Jaws, a Northern huntsman, tells the story of his family and how he came to be touched by Luna.

**Early Life**  
I had a wife once. Children. Her name was Snow Bank. She was from the far north, Haslanti League. On one of her trading circuits she saw me and I must have caught her fancy, because she missed the air boat back home. All the furs and skins she bought from me never made it to market, instead they started our household. She’s been the only woman who’s ever been willing to live with me so far from anyone else in the wilderness where I did my work, have enough of a taste for red meat to have it at every meal, and she tolerated my gruffness long enough to start a family. She was the most loving person I’d ever met, and that includes the family of my birth. I couldn’t have asked for a better mother to my children.

Not that it was all easy. Our first was stillborn. No soul, no name. It cut her something deep. I’d go out hunting and return hours later to see her right where I left her, the fire spent down to the embers. I’d suffer her insults as I insisted she wash and eat and care for herself, sometimes going as far as to spoon her her meals and scrub her body with my own hand. She was convinced she was cursed, barren. That I would leave her, and her family wouldn’t have her back. I told her that was all nonsense, that I loved her for herself, not for what she could birth me, but in that sad time it never made it from her ears to her heart. 

A short two years later we had a daughter, and all the joy swept back into her life. I thanked the Maiden of Serenity, Venus, at the time. Now I’m not so sure she was responsible.

From there we settled into an easy rhythm. I’d bring the fat of the land to our table, and she’d trade what excess I brought in for what the land couldn’t provide. We had a happy little life together, and all three of our live-born children made it to adulthood, happy and whole.

Of course, as much as it suited me and our middle child, my son Sorran, to live surrounded by nature’s splendor without interruption, it wasn’t for everyone. After twenty years, I could tell even Snow Bank was feeling the itch to socialize more often than with the traders she could meet up with, our growing children, and my less than adept conversation. What swayed me most was that a cabin in the far lands was no place to find a good husband for our two daughters, so we boarded up the old place and we moved into the Duke of Arbrigol’s lands, a small village just to the northwest of Whitewall by the name of Embers. 

Our neighbors were real good to us. They helped raise our cabin, and welcomed us to the settlement. Snow Bank took to assessing the local bachelors with a zeal, and I had many a chuckle at her attempts to matchmake for Skylark, our eldest, and later for Southern Wind, our youngest. It was a happy time, and I have fond memories of our children growing to adulthood, finding themselves and their mates, and the families our two girls brought into the world. 

Sorran, though, took after his old man. On his twentieth year, we made the trip back up to the old cabin after the first thaw, and I gave it to him on no uncertain terms. He’d always been one to refuse gifts, preferring to make his own way, even as a little one. I told him that this cabin was his birthright, and that it wouldn’t make a living on its own. He’d have to hunt like I’d taught him, and more than that, trade all by his self. I made him promise me only one thing in return: that he’d talk to the pretty young traders he met, even if his palms were sweaty and he didn’t know what to say. A little embarrassment was a small price for all the happiness that could bring.

I only stuck around a few days to make sure his first hunts were a success, then made the month-long trek back by foot. I could tell he was itching to get out of his old man’s shadow, so I stopped blocking the sun. When I made to the our village, everyone looked at me sadly. Not wanting to hear it, I made it right for our cabin to see whatever it was for myself. It was empty. I ran to Skylark’s home, and beat upon the door. Her husband answered. I always liked him, strong fellow, in mind and body, and he showed it then. He said a sickness had taken Snow Bank while I was away. That they’d paid the doctor and the shaman but neither helped. I didn’t know what to say, so I hugged Skylark, who cried on my shoulder, then did the same with Southern Wind at her in-law’s house.

I gave that cabin to Southern Wind and her husband. They were getting crowded with another baby on the way in her law-parents’ home. I knew Sorran wouldn’t want me around; he was striking his mark upon the world. It was early Summer, Descending Earth, so I set off to carve a little place for myself out in the wild again. While I’d lived in Embers, so close to habitation, the hunting had never been better than acceptable. Out on the edge of the Duke’s land the bounty of the woods was a good as I remembered. I had a fair little cabin by the first snow and a full larder. 

I visited the village to trade my wares a few times a year, and visited my daughters and my grandchildren. They, understandably, held more importance with their daily life than an old man who’d come by once in awhile. I like to think they held a soft spot for the man who brought them a quarter buck, maple sap treats, and little carvings to call their own. Life went on like that for years. But life always changes. 

**Exaltation**  
It was Descending Air in the North. Not a good time to be at home with an empty larder. I hadn't eaten more than the scraps I could scrape away from rot in a week. My boots were starting to look appetizing. A few months back I'd paid my taxes, like all the folk do who have settled on the Duke's land, and I thought I'd make it through the winter just fine with what they left me. Then after the second hard snow I found most of my meat spoiled; the rot found it in my basement. 

I tried to ration what was salvageable, and I made it through two months instead of a one. Winter's always a lean time to begin with; there's not much room for cutting back. Three months is what I needed to make it to the first thaw. I wasn't going to make it. There was no putting it off any longer. I had to go hunting.

Outside I'd found about what I'd expected: a sea of white and no meat on the hoof or in the air. Everything was burrowed up or flown south, my nose too cold to track the first and my ranging too limited to reach the second. So I kept going, farther than I should have. I had to risk it. A snowstorm blew in, just luck, really. I was too cold to stay out in it. The only cave I'd seen had a bear, but alone that was a death sentence no matter how slow from sleep it was. I was too far to go home. Also, too stubborn to settle for those options. I turned back towards my cabin, braving the storm like an old fool.

Tired and cold, feeling every year as old as I was, I didn't have any hope of making it back. The snow gathered in my beard, my breath clouding my vision. My joints creaked and my shoulders ached from tension. My path from my ranging out was blown over by snow, but I could see the mountains and didn't need it. Knowing where I was going was the only advantage I had, and that was a poor one given I knew just how far I needed to go.

In my cold stupor I saw beside me a boy, about 12, naked as the day he was born, silver hair down to his waist, walking atop the snow beside me. He asked, "Where are you going?" I thought to myself then that the cold had robbed me of my mind first before taking my life. Preferring to die with some dignity, I ignored him. I turned back to look at the snow in front of me, and trudged on.

The boy followed me. He whistled a tune above the howling wind, easily walking at my pace, unencumbered by the weather. I decided if I was going to keep seeing him, I may as well talk to him. Dignity is cheap among the dying. It might distract me from the inevitable, keep me going longer than feeling alone.

When I spoke, my teeth chattered so hard I couldn't have possibly been heard. At the time I thought 'why would a hallucination need to hear me'? It made sense then. I said, "I'm headed home after the hunt."

The boy answered, just as if I hadn't been ignoring him for an hour, "I don't see any kill."

"Not all hunts are successful."

"What will you do when you get home?"

At that I stopped. I knew it was foolish. I had to keep moving, keep warm. But looking up, my legs shaking from fatigue, my teeth from the chill, the boy was the picture of curiosity. I couldn't look away. I had to answer.

"Starve, probably."

The boy smiled at me and shook his head. He leaned down and touched my forehead with a single finger. He said to me, "Then don't go home."

A heat rushed through me, banishing the cold. My hunger faded to memory, my limbs felt stronger than even in my youth. I could smell rabbits holed in their burrow a dozen yards away at the base of a tree. So close! I'd been too far gone to sense them. I ran there, my hands aiding me, pounding the ground. They had grown long and furred and clawed. I nosed and shoved the snow away, digging to the rabbits, biting one without pretense, ripping the meat from its back. Its death scream was music to my ears. I ate every part of that rabbit, bones and all. In my haste to eat, the others hopped away down tunnels too narrow for me to follow, but I could tell where they were by smell and sound. I ripped the snow and earth out of my way, and ate two more of the delicious little furry beasts.

I wasn't really myself, then. But I was so much more than the doomed man I once was that I didn't mind the changes. 

When I looked up across the snow, blood covering my face, I came back to myself. My hands were those of an old man again. My clothes were on my person, but doing a much better job keeping me warm, holding the heat radiating from within away from the wind. The boy was nowhere to be seen. 

That was my first taste of Luna’s blessing.


	5. Song Sparrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song Sparrow, a baker's daughter from Emerald Prefecture, tells her story of the bargain for her life.

**Early Life**  
I was a woodland girl from the Emerald Prefecture. I say ‘was’ because my life now is so different from my mortal life that I hardly recognize her anymore. One more good reason for the moon names, keeping identities straight. My parents owned a small bakery; I had collected kindling for them and extra for sale outside our small shop as far back as I could remember.

Trees and woods were everywhere around the lumber village of Three Stags. Anyone with labor to spare could have made themselves a fire. But the same could be said of baking bread. We saw enough well-to-do customers who had the spare money to buy both, and our little family was happy for their patronage. 

My father and mother were happily married, and my younger brother worked as their apprentice in the bakery. When I was much younger, my mother would walk with me in the mornings to gather wood, and take over for father who got up before dawn to sell the last of the day's bread to late customers. Then, once I was old enough for school, mother tended to Basil, my brother, and I walked alone in the woods afterwards, using the last of the light to bring in my haul.

My days were happy breakfasts at full tables with the freshest bread, lessons from the local Immaculate teacher, singing through the woods gathering kindling, and playing with friends with what spare time remained. It was a peaceful childhood. I was blessed.

 **Exaltation**  
Then life changed, as my mentor says it always does. Walking through the forest towards Three Stags with my wagon full behind me, I heard a loud crack. Some sort of wood had burst, but with all the foliage around me I couldn’t tell what direction. I froze and looked about wildly. When I saw the great trunk swing at me in its fall, I dove away, but not fast enough.

The tree caught both my legs, and crushed my wagon. Pain shot through me, and I screamed for a short time, until I blacked out.

I came to in blinding pain. The fading sun filtered through the hole in the canopy, sending menacing shadows everywhere. I took deep breaths, glad to be alive, but hardly able to think through the agony of my crushed legs. I pushed on the tons of wood that had me trapped. It did not move. A girl not even through puberty couldn’t dream of pushing such a weight.

But I saw no other way. So I pushed and strained and cried and cried out well past the sun setting. Each effort brought a fresh wave of pain. I prayed that my legs would simply come off so that I might crawl home. I had to at least stay awake so that I could yell for anyone searching for me. I resolved to stay alert as long as I could. No matter how much it hurt I couldn’t pass out again and risk not waking up. When the tree fell I had just started my walk back; it would take hours for someone to notice me missing and more hours still for a search party to be set, if my lowly station even warranted one beyond my mother, father, and brother.

Then a woman came to me, touching my shoulder without me hearing her approach. She was tall and pale, with silver hair and a dress that matched its color, dusted by walking through the woods but still magical to look upon. Like she had moonlight within her. She asked, “Girl, are you trapped?” With relief thick in my voice I said to her, “Yes, ma’am, I cannot break free.” She shook her head at me like the priest had when I answered a question with the wrong answer - kindly, without malice. “Try again,” she said. I set my hands to the bark and heaved with all my might. To my surprise, I found the strength and leverage I needed to roll the fallen tree away. I was surrounded by moonlight, and the flapping of wings. My legs suddenly stopped hurting, and they stitched themselves whole before my eyes. At the same time, tail feathers grew from my lower back, a match to a sparrow’s. I began to cry in earnest. I had no idea how I had been chosen for such a miracle by the gods. That silver woman had saved my life. At the time I thought she was some sort of priest. Then for a moment I could not see the forest, or the blood on the crushed dirt surrounding my new legs, or the silver-haired woman in her dusty dress. A memory took over my senses where I was myself but much taller, speaking to the same silver lady, this time she was dressed in the finest gown I’d ever seen, seated familiarly on another woman in a dusty green smock. The silver woman said to me in this memory, “You saved yourself. I just told you that you could.”

I turned to thank the woman, but saw her already walking away. She nodded with a smirk at a man wearing a martial artist’s gi, and that man nodded back, frowning. That’s when I noticed I was surrounded. Not by a search party, not by some starving disenfranchised bandits, but by well-fed and well-armed professional soldiers, all bearing readied bows or javelins, and a Dragon-Blooded leading them by the looks of his scroll-motif armor and red skin. 

“What do you want?” I cried, hoping it was something simple so that the strangeness of today would end. I wanted nothing more at the time than to return to Three Stags and forget this day had ever happened.

The soldiers simply kept their mouths shut, scowls on, and arrows knocked. The robed man spoke for them, ahead of the Dragon-Blooded. To my amazement, the Dragon-Blooded let him. “I am Mersach, and I must be honest, I have been sent here to kill you.”

That brought me to a panic. Momentarily forgetting the strength the gods had just granted me, I focused on how yesterday I couldn’t even beat the local boys in a wrestling match. In my panic, I thought that there was no way I could fight so many.

The man continued, “I am going to try not to, however. The moment I do your Exaltation will fly away to some other unlucky soul of Luna’s choosing. Next time I might not be there to have this little talk. Even if I am there, I might not be able to arrange such loyal forces to aid me. I cannot hope to impress upon you how difficult the Fickle Lady usually is to predict, even with the benefit of astrology. To be given a succession of such easily found Exaltations feels like Luna is testing my tolerance for stacking up crimes under Heavenly law. Even if I could explain, there are more important things to discuss.”

None of the soldiers made a move, which was temporary comfort. Mersach kept talking, but to be honest in my time of fear it didn’t make much sense. Only upon reflection did I learn the full extent of what I had agreed to.

“You have become an Anathema to almost every soul in Creation. To your family, to your Immaculate teachers, to everyone you’ve ever known. If you don’t accept my offer, I will kill you and find your next incarnation to propose the same offer. Which one of you accepts does not matter to me. I have under my responsibility ten Lunar Exaltations, and I frankly don’t have the time and passion for killing them that I once did, but that doesn’t mean I won’t kill you. Even if, by some miracle, you best me or manage to flee, you are thousands of miles away from any others of your kind that would aid you. Another Wyld Hunt would ride you down before you contacted them.” Mersach paused to gauge my reaction. In my shock I said nothing, and he continued. “Now that you know your position at the bargaining table, I propose we make a truce. I have seen nothing in your future to warrant your removal. Under this truce you will promise me that you will take no hostile action against the Realm, or provide aid to anyone who does. You will not knowingly take hostile action against a Sidereal. You will protect Creation to the best of your ability at the edge where reality meets the Wyld. You will join the society known as the Swords of Luna. You will shun all Solars, giving them neither succor nor legitimacy. If you do this, I will give you your life, and I will provide transport to the Silver Pact where you will be protected from the Wyld by their magic and taught their ways.”

I hesitated. I tried to remember everything he said. I didn’t even know what some of the words meant. But, I am ashamed to admit now, I probably would have agreed to anything under that menacing duress.

“If you agree here and break these terms later… I’ll rediscover my love of besting such devious opponents as Lunars.”

I raised my hands at the archers whose bows were trained upon me like I would calm a pack of hungry beasts, still standing in the dirt mixed with my own blood. I spoke quickly to Mersach, “I agree! I agree. Take me, spare me.”

And that is how I left the Blessed Isle, never to return.


	6. Lilith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lilith tells her story from the First Age as a fresh-faced Celestial Exalt.

**Early Life**   
What? What do you want to know? I’ve been around for a long time, but that doesn’t mean much. Sometimes it’s hard to remember what happened back then. Sometimes it doesn’t even feel important. Why do you want to know? Tradition? Tradition is an awful reason to do anything. History? If you want to know that, I’d go find someone else, someone more “appropriate”, like The Marked Wolf. She’s the one who taught me. I’m not the one you want to hear from. I have few good tales and I have no gift for storytelling. Really? Alright, I’ll tell you what I can.

There are few who could recognize the world I started my life in. I grew up in the East, the Northeast to be precise. Where the trees grow tall and big and strong. They dwarfed the largest of buildings that mortals could build. They were felled only by the most stubborn of axes and the will of the sea. They grew to be ancient giants. Now, I’m sure no trees are left from my time. The village I grew up in no longer exists.

My life was average. My family toiled in our RPC’s river tending to the snails. I always hated the way they smelled with they returned - like a mix of rotting vegetation, pungent fish, and an acrid smell that was distinct to the snail itself. My father, mother, and uncle never seemed to mind the filth and slime they washed off themselves every evening. They’d go on about the Essence wires they’d pulled from the disgusting creatures, their length and girth, and motonic conductivity levels. The dog-sized snails each had names, and their health was another source of lengthy conversation. They took a strange pride in it all. I was lucky that my education was still ongoing when I Exalted or I might have lost my mind to snails like they did.

But many parts of my life weren’t different than those of mortals I’ve seen today. We laughed over meals, we cried at the injustices that still existed in the world, and we fell in love. At the time of my exaltation, I was about 19 years of age, and I was infatuated with a young man of my village. His family had been woodcrafters of the great trees for generations, skilled at making all manner of things from the red giants. He was a younger son, learning the trade from his father and uncles and even his older brothers. His hands were scarred and rough from his profession, but they were hands that caressed me. He was charming, funny, and handsome; at least to me he was. And more importantly, he was a good man, for whatever that means. If I had not taken the Second Breath, we would have married, had a pile of children, and our lives would have continued as lives had always continued in our village. At the time we weren’t even considering marriage. We spent our time exploring our lives and our bodies together.

But then, Luna touched me and I was never touched by him again.

**Exaltation**   
It must have been a festival day, holy day, or something else for me to be free of my teachers, but I was in the woods when I should have been studying. Perhaps I even was ditching my lessons, but it was so long ago I can’t begin to remember. I was headed for the river though, I do remember that. They were logging by the river that day, and my young man was among them, continuing to learn his trade. This was not the part of the river my family raised their snails, however, or I would never have gone. This was in a faster area, where the river rushed to meet the sea, with whitecaps hiding deadly rocks. I must have been going to see him, he was always so handsome when he was swinging his mighty ax, and as such during those times I became very distracted.

He was taking a break from his work, and his family must not have noticed where we had been standing, near the banks of the river. We only had eyes for each other, and hands that spoke sweetly of better times. We didn’t notice how the thudding of the axes were becoming swifter as they prepared to fell the large tree. We didn’t hear the call of warning. What we did hear was the ominous cracking of the bark as it splintered as tons of wood came falling to the ground, the canopy of the tree falling right where we were standing at the outskirts of the wood.

I have noticed that during the Second Breath, at moments like it that hold such sharp turns in Fate, that time stands still. Moments where only the skills, training, and sheer power of the Celestials will save you. At this moment, we had no such power. I watched entranced as the green came ever closer, my death coming with it. I felt hands shove hard at my back, and I stumbled and rolled away. I heard, but did not see, the crash of the giant and I felt the wind brush the hair on my head. I stood quickly, ignoring the cuts and scrapes I’d gotten from my fall. He must have been the one to push me out of the way, for it could have been no one else. Yet he had not been as lucky. He’d avoided the tree by falling into the river. One death exchanged for another.

An old man came rushing up to me, as I searched for him – I wasn’t aware he’d fallen quite yet.

“He’s in the river!” the old man said as he put his hands on my shoulders, steering me to the bank. “Quick or he’ll likely drown.”

I wasn’t renowned for my swimming skills, but there was little else I could do. I took a step back before I ran and leapt toward the river. The moment my feet left the ground, I felt lighter than I’d ever been before. I stretched my arms, preparing to swim, but instead I was lifted higher into the air, my feathers catching the turbulent air off the rapids. I saw him then; the river had taken him more than 200 yards away. He was struggling to keep his head above water and was doing a poor job of it. I soared to him as his head went under. I easily plucked him out of the water, my mind failing to register that I had claws instead of feet. He clung and sputtered for breath as I beat my wings to send us higher above the waves, back to the safety of the banks.

Once there, I set us both down as easily as I could manage – I had only been a giant strix for a minute at most. I felt my claws change back to feet as soon as I had released him. I looked down at my young man, as he sputtered and coughed at my feet, and wondered what had happened. I looked down at myself to see no bruises or cuts or scratches, even old scars were gone. I looked around at the grove, the men having ceased their work. They were all staring, and there was a wariness in their eyes. Even back then, you see, the strix was known as a harbinger of doom.

But even more than that, they saw me for what I now was. For what I had become.

The moment my life as I knew it had ended.

**Waning Moon**   
He was carried back to the village, and I walked behind on the ground like any normal mortal, contemplating what my new life would be like. I knew what a Celestial Exalted was, and what they did, the lives they led. I knew that I would most likely move to the Blessed Isle, where I would meet up with my Pack mates and eventually my Solar mate, whoever that may be. This was where I knew conflicts would surely arise. Although I had great feelings for my young man, I knew that this would most likely cause a rift with my as yet unknown Solar mate. And then there was the difference in life. I knew I would outlive him and many, many generations of his offspring. This was not something that sat well with me.

My family was understanding, for what else could they be with their demigod of a daughter? They bid me farewell, just as a Dragon-Blooded in plain clothes came to collect me. She was Fire-Aspected, but any other details I cannot give, even her gender. She was the one who brought me to the Blessed Isle, paid my passage on the airship, and vouched for my purpose to the bureaucracy of the skies. There we no real guards, for in those days, who would think of harming a Celestial Exalted?

I said goodbye to him, my young man, and in that goodbye I said what I knew I needed to. He understood, as was his nature. He knew he could hold no candle to the burning sun that was about to enter my life, and I knew he was right. We said our goodbyes amicably, but not even hands did we touch. For even if we understood, there was great pain there.

You know the hardest part about living as long as I have? You seem to forget things. So many things that I know had been so important to me. They have all slipped away. This young man, for example. I know so much about how I felt around him, what he and his family did, and even the words I spoke to him. I know that I cared for this lover from my past, but for all that I can’t seem to remember his face. Or even his name. He stands there, a shadow in my memory, with only implicit understandings keeping him from disappearing altogether.

So I left him, my family, and the life I had known, and travelled farther than ever before. I had been wrong, I remember now, about how quickly I assumed I’d meet up with my Pack. I wasn’t ready to be among them, so new and green as I was. I spent much of the first years learning different things from my Dragon-Blooded handlers. Things like the fundamentals of hand to hand combat, introduction into Charms, and the understandings of societal interactions and what was expected of me. But that was not all - there were languages, poetry, and debate. In short, more schooling. I had to be prepared for the greater society that was Meru. I learned much of my early Lunar skills, not from fellow Lunars, but from my handlers, for it would be unseemly to be so unprepared for my Lunar tutors.

I was lucky enough to learn quickly. I trained daily at the tasks at hand, be it with my body or with my mind. I found that I was somewhat gifted at using a spear and that I acquired skills in the martial art easily enough. This set me at a great benefit. I’d be the latest Waning Moon to identify as a martial artist since Ebon Shadow died in disgrace as an akuma. That didn’t mean I couldn’t be the spy and thief that was expected of me, because I was exemplary in those aspects too. I was a true example of an individualist, and this distinguished me among my handlers and the greater world around me. Other Lunars, outside of my previous incarnation’s Pack even, were beginning to learn who I was. Or at least this was what my handlers said.

During this time, I’d learned a little bit about my previous incarnation’s life. Her closest allies had been: Jujharu - a Full Moon warrior, Swift on Wings - a No Moon sorcerer, and Mountain’s Fury - a Half Moon tactician. Whether I would be part of another Pack with them or not, my handlers felt that it would be most appropriate to meet with them. To let them see what I had become, they’d said.

I was also told about my Solar mate, Desus. It took time for that to become a reality for me. Before I had even seen him, I had been regaled with tales of his splendor and triumphs in the name the of the Unconquered Sun. He had fought as a spy deep undercover in the Primordial Wars, he had been the head of the delegation that forced the diplomatic immunity oaths on the Fair Folk prior to the Aftershock War, and apparently had been named Creation’s most handsome man by Faces of Meru more times than anyone else in that prestigious magazine’s tenure. I was nervous when I found out I was to be his Lunar mate up until I met him. And then I was both elated and terrified.

I do not remember much about meeting him, outside of my complete awe of the situation. It must have been at a party; they were a magnificent sight to behold. But I knew I was there for one reason, and that was to meet Desus. I suppose that was not completely true. I was making a debut of sorts. I was joining the ranks of my fellow Exalts. I met with my previous Pack, and they were intimidating. They had been around much longer than I had been, and therefore accomplished so much. But they were pleasant enough, and sometimes I miss their company. Jujharu told me tales of his conquests in the Wyld, with much zeal I may add. Swift on Wings was very sweet, not at all what I expected from a sorcerer. I learned later of her many projects, including sorcerous workings involving ecosystems whose rate of evolution was greatly increased, but that night she only asked about me. Mountain’s Fury was shrouded. He didn’t say anything to me that night, but he steadily watched me, assessing me. But you could expect nothing less from a great strategist, waiting to know the game before making the wrong move. He was trying to see where I fit in his puzzle.

After that I was steered towards Desus. I remember that I could feel my heart pound as we drew closer, but I thought it was just nerves. My handler and I found him, surrounded by his circle and other Celestial Exalts. They were all beautiful, powerful, and even frightening. And then there was the moment of connection, where our eyes met; even across the room. A warmth and buzz spread through me, and that was the end of what I can remember from that night. My handler said they’d introduced us, and after waiting for more than a few moments, Desus moved over to where I waited. We had some light chatting, which consisted mostly of him talking and me nodding or shaking my head, and he promised to meet with me later at his convenience. Later, when I had grown into the fullness of my magic, I would have found such a brief audience to be an insult, but at the time I was thoroughly besotted with him. He probably saw me as yet another star-struck girl without a thought in her head. And from there my second life truly began.


	7. Tamuz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tamuz tells his story of his life of obligations in the First Age.

**Under Solar Rule**  
I’ve always tried to rise above my station. This has not always been permitted by the powers that be. But rules were made to be broken, were they not?

My earliest memories are of my father. He spent every rest day playing stone games with the neighbors. Even now I can remember the way he’d move white and black pieces around the board; luring, surrounding, and eventually defeating his enemy. When I was old enough, he taught me the same game. I’d play him during the evenings, when all work was done. He would be physically exhausted, but his mind was never dull. On the rest days, I could not convince him to set up a round with me. He would say, “There is a time to act and a time to observe,” and I have not forgotten his advice. It was my father’s teachings that began my interest in military tactics. I used my understanding of Dragon’s King to guide my peers in play at Solars vs. Fair Folk, catching games, and childish victories in word games. During my school learning, I devoured anything I could read on tactics and strategy. This self taught education continued to spill over into competitive sports, aptitudes in other stone games, and even some well planned hijinx. All in the name of improving my gameplay against my father. I spent most of my childhood learning the game, and by the time I was ready for the academy, I was his equal.

As a mortal, I enlisted in one of the Deliberative’s military academies, First Luthan Officer School. It was pretentious, there was no ‘second’ Luthan officer school, but the meritocracy there suited me. I was given small chances to outshine some of my Dragon-Blooded peers. I relished each occasion, even if it was exclusively in the mental realm. They, predictably, found ways to pay retribution during our more physical exercises. 

**Exaltation**  
It was during one of the ‘payback’ sessions on a long run through the wilderness that I Exalted. Two Dragon-Blooded thought I’d be improved by the experience of running home on a broken ankle. They did manage to inflict that harm, but as I was left behind by their laughing backs a young cadet I didn’t know ran up to me. She had short-cropped silver hair, clearly out of regulation, and wasn’t sweating even though we were well into our run. She knelt down beside me and cupped my face. She said to me, “Never let them hold you back.” Then she rose and continued her run.

I was resolved to make it back to the barracks. There was nothing else to choose, really. When I stood up I favored my good leg, but taking my first step I didn’t feel any pain. My ankle had healed, able to support my full weight. I began to run, speeding up as I realized my good fortune. A silver light reflected off the trees, but I was too elated to notice at the time. When I overtook my tormentors, I checked them, what I thought was lightly, by running between their close formation. They flew into nearby trees, and I laughed at the reversal of fortune. Both needed rescuing and were sent to the infirmary, I learned later. I didn’t care. I was the first cadet to finish that run.

I graduated military school with full honors, and was inducted into the Realm’s forces. But my Lunar station came with responsibilities, and one of those was a Solar mate. She was more than a few centuries my senior; she made it clear what she thought of our relationship. She, Chiara, was the Lawgiver, and I was the Steward to be allocated like a powerful playing piece to further her games in the Deliberative. 

It was one of those orders that separated me from my life’s work. After dozens of years in the military, she decided that her tributary needed more symbolic leadership than her Gens’ majordomo. That Dragon-Blooded relieved me from my post at the Wyld horizon where the forces I led had been handling a Fair Folk incursion, and handed me orders to report back to the home front.

I was not suited to politics at first. Civil society had a loose hold on hierarchy, and none of the chain of command. I reached out in the Silver Pact for a mentor, and Ingosh Silverclaws was kind enough to take me on as a student. He softened my military mind and mannerisms, allowing me to succeed, if not thrive, as the civil leader of the Chiaroscuro tributary to the best of my ability under Chiara's bizarre and unexplained dictates.

Ultimately, though, submitting to her orders was my salvation. I was looking over her tributary when the Calibration Feast was ambushed instead of in attendance like many Lunars. I rallied Chiara’s forces in her memory, and they did her proud by fighting like hellions against the Usurpation. But it was ultimately a lost cause. Realizing this, I fled like the rest of the surviving Lunars to the Wyld. I was overjoyed to see my mentor Ingosh Silverclaws had escaped the conflict unharmed as well. Our reunion has echoed down Creation’s history.

 **From Half Moon to Changing Moon**  
The first years ranging the Wyld were harsh ones. Without any supply lines, we had to live off the strange fruits of the waypoints through which we journeyed. With no reserve forces, we had to vanquish or retreat from any Wyld threats we journeyed across. We couldn’t stay put; when we tried the Shogunate would send a Wyld Hunt to our waypoint, and we had to retreat from our former subordinates even deeper into the Wyld where the threats were more severe and unpredictable. The irony of using our own tradition of hunting the Wyld things against us made for dark humor around the campfire. The worst of it, though, was losing my Caste and seeing my friends lose theirs.

My Half Moon Caste had been my pride since the day Luna saw fit to bestow it upon me. Its symbol was worked into my entire panoply, and I strongly identified with it. But more than that, without a Caste to guide us, we became vulnerable to the Wyld. My old friends began to become erratic, irritable, prone to bouts of unrestrained anger or useless melancholy. We were all having a hard time adjusting to our new unreality in the Wyld, so a little stress relief and despondency was expected, but this was far outside of reason. Both were a hazard when we had to keep moving and keep our minds sharp for multiple threats. Ogun Bloody-Tusks was never the most dependable of our number, so it was easy to excuse the first signs of his Chimerism as Ogun on one of his bad days. But over time it was impossible to ignore how lost he had become. We turned on him, putting him down.

The result on morale was inescapable. We had lost what seemed like everything - our privileged places next to the Lawgivers, our fine Manses and hunting grounds, the society that we had sacrificed for and upheld, even our Castes. Banding together with each other after Perfect Feather’s warnings, caring for one another against the threats of the Wyld and the early Shogunate, was something to lean on. In those early days, the sense of purpose for the Silver Pact was never stronger, our very survival depended on our solidarity. That’s what made our decision to slay Ogun spark such introspection. When we tore apart one of our own, we questioned why we were going on, where we were headed. Some openly, but all privately.

The Crossroads Society will always have my respect for fixing the Castes. I won’t hear of any rumors about the No Moons usurping the priesthood for selfish gain in my presence. Restoring the Castes and inoculating us from the Wyld was what we needed to go on then, and we didn’t have time to wait to perfect the process. There comes a time where a plan is good enough and must be enacted. In our dark time lost in the Wyld, having a Caste again lifted us up, reminded us of our purpose to shine Luna's light upon Creation. We, fittingly, chose to change. And once changed, we began to venture into Creation once more.


End file.
